Life's Not Black & White, Only Shades of Gray (Currently reworked)
by SigmaSeven
Summary: Hunters are the sworn protectors of Remnant, fighting everything from terrorists to organized crime, but when shadowy forces begin conspiring against Remnant itself, a group of young rookie Hunters and their allies find themselves thrust into a vast web of death, manipulation, and treachery. However, they're not the only ones caught in their intricate web... (Counter terrorism AU)


**A/N** : _Before you read on, I want to make it clear that this is an alternate universe that I created that is significantly different than many of the other alternate universes I've came across in the RWBY fandom. This is not a "RWBY is the same except for this one tiny detail change or one character difference" stories. I've read some that do mess around with details but try to keep as much canon as possible that are pretty good. Mute Arc by destinyTail0 has a very simple detail change that ends up affecting the entire plot of the show without completely derailing it and it follows the show up to a certain point._

 _Instead, this story is more like those lengthy fanfictions where they rebuild the universe from the ground up, creating new and interesting ways to portray character dynamics, relationships, and conflicts. For me, Zodiac by inkbender is a perfect sample. It creates a new version of Remnant still similar to the show with lots of action and comedy spaced throughout that slowly explains the world and makes you look at some characters differently. My version of Remnant and how it works is a little (no make that very) complicated and complex with a lot of bumps I still need to smooth out. When you're done with this chapter, my author's note at the bottom will clarify anything I don't think the narrative covered._

 _Trust me; it'll make a lot more sense once you start reading it. Kudos to you if you can figure out all the references and shout-outs._

 _Before I forget, RIP Monty Oum. Without his creative genius, I wouldn't be writing this, you wouldn't be reading this, and Roosterteeth would've been less awesome. Hopefully one day I'll be able to make my own stories that fans will love and try to play around with it, be it one of my fanfictions or my own original stories._

 _Rated M for very dark themes throughout and eventual graphic violence, but no strong language._

 _Anyway, time for me to stop rambling and for you to enjoy the story..._

* * *

 **Pieces & Players**

 _"It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."_

 _-Albus Dumbledore, Chief Hunter of Hogwarts_

* * *

 _Abandoned Sato Industries Warehouse_

 _Vale, Kingdom of Vale_

Roman Torchwick took one final drag from his Sweet Williams cigar, savoring its distinct and exotic taste. Already he could feel the tense knots of muscle in his back slowly unravel as the calming smoke pleasantly billowed out of his mouth. He needed that, especially with the clients he was dealing with today. Unhinged cutthroats, cold-blooded murderers, and bloodthirsty psychopaths were regular headaches of his, but these guys were a special lot, even by his questionable standards. Aggressive negotiations weren't an option here nor would it necessary. Normally, even if the deal went south, it wouldn't be too hard to salvage the situation and recuperate his losses.

Roman Torchwick always came out on top and he looked fine while he did it.

He always made sure his men were supplied with the best gear available, making them wear lightweight ballistic vests underneath their clothes and equipping them with the latest in military hardware. Roman's own custom tailored suit was lined with Kevlar nanofibers coated in ballistic shock absorbing gel from head to toe. He was by no means bulletproof or invincible, but unless he was shot by a fairly large caliber round, which he doubted his clients had in their possession, or in the face, which was unlikely given that everyone and their mother were trained to shoot for the center mass, there was no need for worry. His suit could stop buckshot at point blank, even though the impact from the shot still would leave some nasty bruises and a cracked rib or two.

His clients did not even possess adequate arms to challenge the most backwater police forces in Remnant, but his boss had the absurdly crazy notion to change all of that, hence his stress. Blotching up this deal meant far more than some lost profits. His boss would see to that. Sometimes Roman felt like his bosses love torturing him despite everything they made he do for them. Haphazardly dropping the cigar butt, he crushed it with the end of his cane, ready to get this deal done and over with. After all, he still had places to rob, deals to be made, people to con.

He turned to face his poorly armed clients, spreading his arms out in a grandiose manner as they entered through the open loading bay. "Welcome ladies and gentlemen to Roman's Gun Emporium! Everything you fine fellows need to give the government a splitting headache is right over here," Roman stated with an air of confidence, carefully guiding the end of his cane over the open crates packed with fully automatic weapons and attachments set up next to him. "I gotta say, in this heated political climate, nothing gets your tiny voice heard better than some good old fashioned lead and as a bonus for you nasty troublemakers, you get to cause some strife between Atlas and whosoever your filthy little heart's desire to target as this fine military hardware comes courtesy of the oh so proud Atlesian military," he added with mock military salute, knowing full well that his clients would jump at the chance to cause unneeded political turmoil.

What self-respecting, self-righteous, anti-government extremist group wouldn't?

The gathered Faunus members of the White Fang talked quietly amongst themselves, obviously impressed with Roman's sales pitch despite the feature concealing masks worn by the so-called revolutionary group. It was common knowledge among the criminal underworld that pro-Faunus terrorist organization lacked the equipment that would let them pose a viable threat to any of the Four Kingdoms. What they lacked in equipment however, they sure made up for in sheer manpower and ferocity. Like many of the terrorist organizations Roman found himself selling to lately, pretty much everyone involved was a fanatic to some degree and blindly followed any orders given that they believed would further their cause, but the White Fang were all-too-willing to stoop lower than most. Suicide bombings and suicidal attacks by poorly trained and ill-equipped soldiers were often used by the White Fang to spread fear among the human population of Remnant and intended to make out the Faunus as victims. With every attack, more and more human civilians fell victim to the wrath of the White Fang, worsening the already harsh prejudice against the Faunus community. Roman was by no means a sympathetic or caring person for the most part, but the intentional targeting of civilians only caused problems that he would much rather avoid altogether.

It was too messy in his opinion and it was also just bad taste. Want to send a message? How about bomb the courthouse? People were always complaining about the law being unfair. Hate politicians and their methods of "solving" problems? Assault a meeting filled with prominent politicians. That was how the Equalists got their message across. Turning their members into martyrs by attacking symbolic targets and politicians that went against their ideology. Civilian casualties were just collateral, not the main focus.

The only other group out there that Roman knew were willing to commit such atrocious actions on purpose were the Insurrectionists and they were downright insane and self-contradictory in their logic. Every other terrorist group out in Remnant had a logical reason they used to justify their actions. The Separatists were right-wing militant nationalists who believed that Atlas, with their superior technology and military forces, should control all of Remnant. The Equalists were left-wing socialists who believed in complete and total equality for everyone and that a limited government needed to exist solely to enforce this equality. The Vox Populi was of a similar nature, but were also anarchists. They didn't think that a government was a necessary evil like the Equalists. They believed that the citizens of the community had to enforce rules that they themselves agreed upon. Cordis Die was an anti-capitalist and anti-corporation populist movement founded by narco-terrorists. The White Fang were simply Faunus tired of being kicked to the curb by everyone in Remnant and simply wanted to be seen as equals. At least at first. Now it was about ushering in the "Age of the Faunus", about putting themselves on top and humans on bottom.

The ideology of all these different groups made sense in one fashion or another, but not the fringe group that was the Insurrectionists. Even the other terrorists shied away from them.

They wanted "their voices to be heard", which they already had. That was the whole point of a representative democracy that all four Kingdoms had. Vote for the guy or girl who shared your opinion. Yet for whatever reason, they claimed they were "oppressed" by the very people they themselves voted into power. They completely failed to realize that if they didn't like the person they voted for, they could simply get a petition and recall the politician for a new vote, but hey, killing people seemed a whole lot easier. To add more fuel to the fire, they needlessly killed civilians who had nothing to do with their strife to further their agenda, which was completely against their agenda to begin with. They claimed the governments of Remnant were needlessly getting innocent people killed, despite the blatantly obvious fact that they were the ones blowing up government sponsored day cares and federal office buildings filled with self-hating office drones.

Needless to say, they were one bucket of crazy Roman sought never to deal with.

But in the end, it mattered little to him as to why his less-than-sane clients were so hell-bent on getting themselves and others killed or what they believed would be accomplished by their deaths; to Roman, they were all just hopeless idiots beyond all measure. If they wanted to off themselves in a grand albeit messy way, so be it. Would've been easier if they just ate their guns. They were willing to make themselves martyrs to bring down the "oppressive regime" that was the Four Kingdoms Council for whatever stupid reason they came up with while completely failing to realize that their actions were exactly what the FKC used to justify their "oppressive actions". All the groups Roman dealt with gave little-to-no regards to collateral damage or the loss of civilian life that occurred in their attacks, yet they wondered why the public would turn against them and not praise them for being the freedom fighters they considered themselves to be.

It took a special kind of idiot to get involved in groups like that.

Roman himself could care less about politics and the tangled web it weaved, although he shared many of his clients' animosity towards the various governments of Remnant. In his mind, governments would always be corrupt to some degree, populated by men and women who sought only to further their own political ambitions with some naïve idealists sprinkled throughout. Regardless of whoever took over the government or if the government stood firm, there would always a place for people like him, who procured anything that anyone would pay handsomely for: guns, drugs, hard liquor, fast cars, exotic animals. He could sell to anyone and since he claimed no loyalty to any one group and took everyone's money, he never had a target painted on his back, except from rival dealers and a few clients that tried to shortchange him. The only things he didn't traffick across borders were people. Even as amoral as he was, Roman Torchwick possessed some integrity, as little as it was. He held no qualms about the deaths of law enforcement, politicians, soldiers, or even greedy businessmen, but civilians who had no say in any of these ideological/political clashes and first responders who were just trying to save people's lives, regardless of what side they were on? It seemed contradictory that a man who sold instruments of death held morals of any sort, but did a car salesman beat himself up over every death caused by a car he sold?

Most likely not and neither did Roman.

No, it didn't matter to him if the governments of Remnant fell to the might of terrorism or they stood tall and proud in the face of the seemingly endless opposition; someone out there hated someone else and were willing to pay for something that was hard to get that the other guy didn't have or to give themselves an edge over the other guy.

 _And now to show these guys the edge they're paying for_ thought Roman, keeping his attention trained on the White Fang Lieutenant. The man was easily a head taller than the rest of his compatriots, wore a unique mask that covered his whole face and didn't leave his mouth exposed like his subordinates, and his muscular physique displayed by his sleeveless shirt and distinct stance practically screamed to Roman he was ex-military, law enforcement, or something of that nature. This guy was well trained, well disciplined, and definitely not a man who was easily impressed, but Roman Torchwick had his ways. After all, one didn't make it far in this business without brains and some amount of charm, both of which he had in good supply.

Roman handed off his cane to one of his henchmen and retrieved an assault rifle from one of the larger crates. He displayed it for his clients, taking various poses and aiming the rifle at imaginary targets as he described the weapon, pointing out each key feature as he talked. "This right here is a Bal-27 assault rifle. Standard issue among most of the Atlesian armed forces. Packs a pretty good punch at most ranges, but its accuracy struggles a bit at longer ranges. Fully automatic, fires at a rate of 857 rounds per minute. Recoil's somewhat between moderate and high, but with a little practice, becomes easy to manage. Comes with rather clear and unobstructive iron sights but longer range engagements might dictate the use of optics due to the recoil. Somehow I don't see that as being a problem for you however, given your fondness for urban demolition," he remarked, although he elicited no response by any of the terrorists.

Tough crowd. He shrugged and went on with his demonstration. "Comes with a variety of attachments to suit any goal, including suppressors if you feel the need to be sneaky and avoid any...unwanted attention. Even untrained, it only takes about two seconds to reload the top mounted magazine."

Roman placed the rifle back in its place and wandered over to a smaller crate, taking great care when retrieving the boxy submachine gun take to keep the barrel pointed away from his clients as he went about his demonstration. "Now, boys and girls, if you're the type of person who wants every shot to land on target or something a bit more compact, then this is what you need. This is a SN6 submachine gun. Don't let appearances fool you kiddos. Fully automatic, fires at a rate of 800 rounds per minute. Built in recoil mitigation technology plus the nine millimeter rounds it uses, while lacking in stopping power, ensures you have a near zero recoil gun. That, in turn, makes this peashooter one of the most accurate submachine guns out there. You're not gonna stop an oliphaunt, but any untrained simpleton that can pull a trigger can empty this thing without missing a shot," he pointed out, earning him some light chuckles from his men. Roman stole a glance back at them, shutting them up before something undeniably stupid and offensive came out of one of their mouths. More than one client was lost due to his men's loose lips. It was one thing for him to make fun of his clients; they expected it. He knew what the line was, but not his men.

Roman moved on, handing off the SMG to another one of his henchmen before pulling out an odd-looking pistol from one of the small boxes in the pile. "Now," he said, loading an empty magazine and pulling the slide back on the pistol for dramatic effect, "if you find yourself in a tight spot needing a backup weapon, then look no further than this. This is an Atlas 45, a commonplace sidearm among law enforcement and militaries alike across the globe. You guys are no doubt familiar with this thing being pointed at you. Well, now it's time to point it back at your oppressors. It might take some getting used to, due to the forward mounted magazine, but this thing will stop almost anything at close range. Your two-legged prey is no exception. With near negligible recoil, its ergonomic design makes it unbelievably easy to handle and an add-on accessory rail will allow you to mount various optics and other attachments, although I doubt that's necessary."

Roman tossed the pistol back into the box and reached into his coat's breast pocket for another Sweet Williams cigar. He made a mental note to order some more once this deal was over. He had no more on his person and only a couple left in his car, but where any other dealer would've lost control of his bowels at the prospect of meeting the White Fang face-to-face and risk losing their lives, he didn't even break a sweat or bat an eye and for that alone he deserved the imported cigar. Several dealers he'd worked with before lost their heads to the White Fang over tainted goods or surprise renegotiations and they were the lucky ones. At least their bodies were found only in two pieces. For that alone, he was breaking open one of his bottles of vintage malt whiskey or red wine when he got back to his place. He needed a drink. Fishing out his lighter from his pocket, he lit up the tip of his cigar, taking only one calming puff before asking "Satisfied?"

The White Fang Lieutenant kept his head bowed in thought for a few seconds before letting out a deep, hearty laugh. It quickly filled the warehouse, reverberating off the barren walls, echoing down the empty hallways, and yet Roman could hear some of his men shift uneasily behind him. What did he pay them for? Garrett, Roman's right hand man and the only one not to be intimidated as far as he could tell, came forward and handed him his cane back without a word before sulking back into position. Garrett was easily the only one there worth the money he was paying. At first glance, Garrett was just another military washout who knew how to take orders, look intimidating, and inflict pain when needed. However, Garrett possessed an innate ability to think outside the box. Even with as smart and clever as Roman was, he could not predict for every possible outcome and Garrett somehow found flaws and holes in his carefully calculated and constructed plans that he himself did not foresee time and time again. Just when he thought he had covered all angles, Garrett had some concern that if exploited, could mean his downfall.

Not that he would ever admit it, of course.

"For a human, I have to say, you've delivered exactly as promised," said the Lieutenant, after a whole thirty seconds of laughing and looking back at his subordinates, "and that's not something I can say about other humans we've dealt with."

Roman tipped his hat at the Lieutenant as a gesture of thanks. "Well, I aim to please all my customers. Now, for your end of the bargain."

"Wait a second. Where's the ammunition?"

"Not here. Ammunition's extra." The Lieutenant tilted in head in a questioning manner. Roman rolled his eyes before explaining himself. "Guns are relatively easy to explain and hide. Between military, law enforcement, and PMC purchases, a crate full of assault rifles slips under the radar easier than one might think. Military grade ammunition with Dust fused gunpowder in the quantity you want; not so much." He took another long drag of his cigar before continuing. "Besides, the deal was for guns, not ammo."

"How much?"

"Twenty thousand for standard issue rounds. Double if you want quality Dust rounds."

The Lieutenant seemed to understand and snapped his fingers at the Faunus closest to him. The White Fang quickly made way for two members carrying a large metal crate. On the side of the crate was the intricate snowflake crest of the Schnee Dust Company, the largest producer of energy and Dust in the world. Roman felt the corners of his mouth slowly form into a smile as they opened the crate, revealing carefully packed vials of crushed Dust.

Dust was the life source of the planet and in more ways than one. Ever since the mysterious crystals were discovered millennium ago, people have been using it as an energy source. It possessed the unique ability to enhance a normal energy source's power output as for some inexplicable reason that was beyond his comprehension, Dust crystals contained an immense amount of energy that could be released easily if one knew how to release it. Racers put small amounts of crushed Dust into their fuel to make it perform better, gunpowder was often mixed with trace amounts of Dust to give bullets more stopping power, generators slowly chipped off pieces of large and unstable crystals in controlled environments in order to harness energy released, and more unstable crystals were commonly used to make explosives or power machines of war due to the high destructive energy output.

The sheer number of applications Dust had was staggering and this was exactly what he needed. Or rather, what his boss needed. Didn't matter really; it wasn't like he was being paid for his services anyway, not that he needed the cash. He had a small fortune stashed away in various accounts, but in his line of work, you could never have enough money. Especially with the powerful people he dealt with. One of the many reasons Roman was a habitual smoker. He needed something to calm his nerves and clear his mind. It was more likely that he would end up six feet under or in tiny pieces in the ocean long before cancer ever became a problem for him and on the off chance he lived long enough to develop cancer, he could easily afford the best treatments out there.

Roman slowly picked up a vial of red Dust, holding it up to the warehouse's dim lights to better examine it. Red Dust was one of the more unstable varieties of Dust, known for having incendiary properties, hence its prevalent use in bomb-making. Very volatile, very potent, naturally unstable, highly combustible, and very dangerous in the right hands. The very fact the White Fang willingly gave up this stuff told Roman two things: they honored their arrangements, contrary to what others believed of the White Fang, and that they were in need of firearms, not bombs.

Bombs were relatively easy to come by since amateurs made cheap explosives out of common, over-the-counter materials. The explosive market was practically flooded with the crude knockoffs. Why buy one set of military grade explosives when you can buy the crude stuff in bulk for half the price? Plus, it came with the benefit that it was harder to trace back to any one source. And if you needed more _oomph_ in your explosion, there were bomb makers with ingenious devices that could release the energy stored within stable, low output Dust.

Few people sold military firearms in bulk, especially complete with attachments and accessories in amount that Roman did. That alone gave him the upper hand in his shady dealings.

"As requested, a dozen crates of grade A Dust straight from the greedy mitts of the SDC," spat the Lieutenant, his voice vile and filled with contempt, which didn't surprise Roman in the slightest.

The White Fang and the Schnee Dust Company had been at each other's throats for decades, even back when the White Fang was just a bunch of naive, idealistic kids still in college pushing for Faunus rights through non-violent means. The SDC practiced more than a couple of unscrupulous business practices, several of which even Roman disliked and exploited for his own gain, including their monopoly on Dust prices, but the White Fang despised them for their long history of abusing and taking advantage of their Faunus workforce, often placing them under unethical conditions, despite mandates and threats from the FKC that they promptly ignored or found a way around. To the White Fang, any human employee of the SDC or anyone directly associated with the SDC was their sworn enemy.

And they were out for blood.

Roman couldn't say he blamed them though. The Schnee Dust Company was notoriously corrupt, along with other companies like Hyperion, Umbrella, and Ultor, whose shady deals made Roman's look like a lemonade stand. He placed the vial back in the crate, content with his spoils.

"Just so you know, it wasn't easy retrieving those crates," commented the Lieutenant. His lackeys all nodded and murmured in agreement. Roman was hardly surprised by that development. With the finances they held, the SDC could afford to beef up security with every attack, incorporating increasing overcomplicated and overelaborate systems to protect their precious shipments of Dust. The White Fang weren't the only ones targeting the SDC's Dust shipments. "We lost a lot of good men and women intercepting those shipments," he added, letting those words hang in the air.

"Of course you did, but that only means the SDC considers you a real threat."

"Threat?" The Lieutenant looked back at his compatriots in disbelief. "We are much more than a simple _threat_ ," he growled, tension quickly filling the air between the two parties. Roman needed to defuse this fast. Fortunately, he was great at pushing people's buttons. One of his many remarkable attributes, along with his strikingly good looks and brilliant mind.

"You misunderstand. The SDC, like all the governments, are arrogant and self-righteous. They think _nothing_ can harm them, that _nothing_ could possible touch them on their shiny pedestals. They'd rather play you mangy mutts off as a mild inconvenience and write off the damages. But I, _I_ can get you the equipment and information you need to not only harass the SDC but severely damage their operations," spat out Roman, jabbing the air with his cane. "Isn't that what you want?"

The Lieutenant paused in his tracks, massaging his jawline as he considered what Roman had to say. A good indicator the gears in his head were turning, considering the impact of what he just said.

"Just out of curiosity, what would it cost for all that equipment and info?"

"Well, I'm still in need of more high quality Dust. A _lot_ more. Preferably pure crystals."

"And theoretically, what would one get from such a trade?"

Roman pursed his lips, thinking of what he could provide them with. There were all manners of vehicles he could supply them with, but the White Fang were a last-stand/martyrdom/hit-and-run type of group like the Equalists. They weren't quasi-military like the Insurrectionists or the Separatists.

That was it. Hit and run raids, shock and awe attacks. Their troops weren't expected to survive, but wanted to cause as much destruction as possible.

"Buzzard fast attack copters, Valkyrie gunships, Savage attack copters, HVY Insurgent armored personnel carriers, Karin Technicals, Cargobob transport copters, Rhino main battle tanks," was his answer. "That is, _if_ I was given a _substantial_ quantity of pure, grade A Dust crystals. And the fuel and munitions for the vehicles would be extra and cost a considerable amount."

The members of the White Fang did a double take on Roman, as if questioning his sanity. It wasn't the first time he got that look, more often than not by less-than-sane individuals.

One White Fang member shook her head in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"Oh, I'm perfectly serious dear. You're not going to be able to successful invade the capital or anything bold like that if that's what you're thinking, but against the SDC, you'll certainly do some major damage. Maybe even level some of their complexes."

"Kind of outdated equipment but...," muttered the Lieutenant, deep in thought.

Roman kept silent, his lips forming into a wide grin as he patiently waited for his answer. It was simply too good of a deal for them to pass up. The White Fang were one of the largest terrorist organizations in terms of manpower, but they were technologically outmatched compared to other better funded terrorist groups. To make things better for Roman, more than a few terrorist groups out there were pro-human or anti-Faunus or both.

"Well, I do have information on some SDC shipments you can raid in my possession," tossed out Roman, sweetening the pot. A chance to hurt their enemies _and_ use their rival's resources to fund their attacks against them? They weren't going to let this opportunity slip by. Not by a long shot. "Not many will be willing to pay for it and I'm not going to do anything with it, but with your fancy new guns, I don't think you'll have much of a problem."

"It'll take some time...and we'll need ammo," commented the Lieutenant.

"You're already getting the information for free as a bonus, but..." Roman had to think for a second on what to do. The White Fang clearly didn't have the money to purchase the ammo and even if they did, it was already going to the Vox Populi and they were _no_ t someone Roman wanted to make an enemy of under any circumstances. It would've taken precious time to get them the ammunition they needed anyway. No, he needed something that both parties would benefit from.

But what?

They share didn't ideologies nor backgrounds nor occupations. They didn't share the same enemies. The White Fang fought the government, the SDC, and other anti-Faunus pro-Human organizations like the Cerberus PMC. Roman and his dealings were practically unknown to the government and even then, he was a small fry compared to other major arms dealers.

Wait, that was it.

His rivals.

"I have a proposition," stated Roman, giddy inside over his clever solution.

The Lieutenant cocked his head in curiosity. Probably wondering something like _What is the puny human going to say now?_

"As you know, I provide hard to get items and materials for individuals and groups who could not obtain them themselves through regular channels. It's a risky and complicated line of work, but it's also a lucrative business and very competitive one at that. Now-"

"We're _not_ going to do your dirty work!" The White Fang Lieutenant pointed at him accusingly. "We are _not_ mercenary scum! We are _not_ hired guns and mindless thugs that you can hire out of whimsical desire!"

Roman took a step back in offense and each side nervously gripped their guns. Roman scoffed internally. Even if a gunfight broke out, his men were better armed and better protected than the White Fang. His men were armed with hard hitting HBRa3 assault rifles while they only held peashooting MP11s. He would only have to replace maybe two of his men. At most.

No, he needed to stop this before it got out of hand. If he blotched this up, he wasn't just going to make another powerful enemy and have to lay low for a while; it meant his head on a silver platter.

And Roman was very fond of his gorgeous face.

"No, no, no, no, I meant nothing of the sort. I take it you folks are aware of the Cerberus PMC, no?" The gathered members of the White Fang only intensified their stares. He'd touched a nerve and a very sensitive one at that. Precisely what Roman needed. "Bunch of condescending, self-centered pro-human brats whose arrogance makes me ashamed that I even belong to the same species as them. They hate all of Faunuskind and think themselves as better than the rest of us humans and they certainly don't hide it. You probably know that the SDC hires them all the time for security, you probably killed some of their security forces during your acquisitions, but did you know they're also backed by the SDC and in more ways than one?"

Roman could just picture the Lieutenant raising his eyebrow behind his mask. "What exactly do you mean? Just about everyone in Vytal knows that the SDC possesses significant stock in Cerberus and are close business partners."

"Yes, but the more...unscrupulous and illegitimate elements of the SDC also fund Cerberus's weapon development programs behind the scenes. Whatever weapons Cerberus doesn't make themselves, they buy."

"But from who?" The Lieutenant was clearly catching on. Now if only he would take what Roman was offering.

"People like me. Entrepreneurs, if you will. Powerful people who, unlike me, share the viewpoints of Cerberus and the SDC. While the SDC cannot purchase certain weapons and security equipment legitimately, they do so through Cerberus who has leeway due to being a PMC. And whenever the SDC needs something to be done to further gain their influence illegally, they go to Cerberus. Cerberus in turn, preforms clandestine operations against pro-Faunus organizations, terrorist or otherwise at their own discretion, while being supplied with unstable Dust crystals the SDC wants to get rid of since no one will buy it. The SDC even protects Cerberus's controversial actions with their army of private lawyers."

"So by striking at these...entrepreneurs, we not only secure more arms and ammunition for ourselves, but deal a crippling blow both to the SDC and Cerberus as well as turn their own weapons against them," realized the Lieutenant, chuckling at the irony of using weapons designed to kill Faunus against humans. "Oh, and of course, soften up competition for you."

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it 'a crippling blow', they're both a little too big for that at this point in time, but it will, without a doubt in my mind, send the message that you and the rest of the White Fang are clearly not to be trifled with. If you strike at them both in the public eye and privately behind the scenes, they now have to fight a war on two fronts." Roman took another long, satisfying drag of his cigar before stating, "I expect well more than two dozen crates of pure crystals."

The Lieutenant chuckled. "For what you have and will provide for us, we'll make sure you get their entire shipments!"

Roman gave a curt nod back and motioned at Garrett. Garrett cautiously came forward, eyeing the Lieutenant as he set down the briefcase he'd been tasked with protecting in front of the White Fang. Inside were cargo manifests, departure times, schedules, and other bits of information the White Fang would need to secure the Dust shipments. Like well-oiled machines, each side moved forward to claim their goods, keeping a trained eye on the other. The White Fang didn't check the suitcase nor did they check the unopened crates of firearms, but what reason did they have to check them? Each side just received everything they wanted and if they played their cards right; each side would receive only more by dealing with each other. Double guessing or double crossing each other wasn't in their best interest. Not to mention Roman's head was on the line. If only they knew that.

"My boss still wants a word with your boss," reminded Roman on his way out. He glanced back at the Lieutenant, warning him. "They're not the type to take no for an answer."

"Don't worry. I'll put in a good word for you. If he's interested, we'll contact you," waved off the Lieutenant. He picked up a Bal-27, weighing it in his hands as his subordinates loaded up the crates into their stolen Mules. Amateurs. Roman could still see the company logos from who they were stolen from on the sides. "After all, this seems to be the beginning of a mutually beneficial relationship. If all goes well, your bosses shall have their meeting soon enough. Be ready with that information on your rivals. We'll be in touch about the drop-off point."

"Whatever you say you mangy mutts," growled Roman under his breath. The crates of Dust were quickly loaded into his own unmarked Mules. Unlike the White Fang's Mules, his box trucks possessed armor plating, bulletproof tires, an attached bulbar to the front, and side barriers. His trucks, while not any faster or maneuverable as the White Fang's, could ram any nosy police car out of the way. It was sheer luck that the White Fang were able to transport the Dust here unnoticed.

Roman brushed the thoughts aside. Either they would wise up or get caught, whichever came first. It wasn't his place to say anything. Not yet at least. He finished his cigar and tossed away the cigar butt, making his way towards his luxury sedan while the rest of his men loaded up onto their Enus Huntley S luxury SUVs. Roman's personal vehicle, an Enus Super Diamond, was synonymous with style and class among Remnant's high society, the interior crafted from authentic leather and the finest wood harvested in the world. He got into the back seat, a great weight lifted off his shoulders as he sank back into the padded leather seat. He didn't know what his boss would say to him about this deal, but it wouldn't be in anger. At least, that's what he hoped. Garrett silently got into the driver's seat and they slowly pulled out, the Mules full of Dust going to a warehouse Roman owned through a shell company while Roman's three car convoy headed back towards his penthouse suite.

"Garrett."

"Yea boss?"

"Call up our friends at Fort Zancudo. Tell them we seem to have a buyer for their old toys," instructed Roman, his mind already working on the details of transporting such heavy and noticeable vehicles. Fuel, ammunition, and operators would have to come later. Roman first had to get the vehicles from point A to point B. He was going to have to grease a lot of palms, but between the Dust crystals his boss was breathing down his neck for and the extra money he would soon make, the extra headache seemed worth it.

"Oh, and put in an order for another two cases of Sweet Williams."

He desperately needed a drink. That tempting vintage bottle of Glen McKenna scotch was still collecting dust in his extensive liquor cabinet. Why not crack it open? He deserved it and the next few days were going to be hectic, whether he liked it or not. His bosses were going to be breathing down his neck and his every move was to be thoroughly scrutinized.

Then again, Roman Torchwick often preformed his best under pressure.

* * *

 _Main Conference Room_

 _Hunter Hall, New Valero_

Time.

If there was ever anything that Ozpin could ever find in him to hate with every fiber of his being, it would have to be time and he was a man with many enemies.

They said time healed all wounds, but Ozpin always rejected that popular notion. Time didn't heal most wounds; it simply covered it up and left behind a scar, but the damage still lingered, hiding underneath the surface.

In his experience, time was simply an ally of convenience, working alongside you one day, only to turn against you the next.

No matter what good deed he did or great accomplishment he held under his belt, time always had a cruel way of bringing up his dark past and finding a way to undo all the good he'd ever done. Again and again, despite all the lives he'd saved and the all the lives the Hunters he'd trained saved, the skeletons in his closet wouldn't let him sleep at night. It was no secret that Ozpin almost never slept and when he did, it was only for an hour or so, but most people simply thought it was his copious consumption of coffee. It was a natural assumption, considering the fact he was almost never seen without his coffee mug and that one of his old Hunter friends, now hyperactive Instructor at Beacon, consumed enough caffeine on an hourly basis to give every animal in an entire metropolitan zoo a heart attack. Twice.

No, what kept Ozpin up at night in the middle of the night weren't ludicrous amounts of caffeine or a restless body, but rather his numerous failures.

The innocent lives he could've saved, but didn't.

The countless deaths he could've prevented, but didn't.

The needless sacrifices that didn't need to happen, but did.

The senseless destruction and carnage he failed time and time again to stop.

His job as Chief Hunter of Beacon was to train the next generation of Hunters, who in turn, would protect the population of Remnant from those who seek to do them harm, regardless of who they were or where they were from. He was to train Huntsmen and Huntresses, refine their combat skills, teach them valuable lessons in leadership and teamwork, strengthen their body and mind, and send them out into the world to stop madmen and terrorists.

Yet, despite all that and all the good he and his Hunters did, it was never enough. For every terrorist cell they took down, another sleeper cell was activated. For every terrorist group dissolved, another would eventually take up their mantle or ideals. For every bomb defused, another suicide bombing would follow. For every member of leadershio captured or killed, another attack in their name. For every organized crime ring shut down, another gang or cartel filled in the void. For every serial killer caught, another continued to operate unnoticed. He only needed to turn on the news to see how much of a failure he and the rest of his colleagues were.

The deadly home bombings in the higher income areas of Columbia by the Vox Populi.

The violent acts of piracy committed on merchant vessels and airships by the Separatists.

The orchestrated kidnappings and brutal executions of public office holders by the Equalists in Republic City.

The White Fang's destructive raids and subsequent thefts of Dust transports from the Schnee Dust Company.

The suicide bombings of crowded public places by the Insurrectionists.

But perhaps one of the worst things to ever happen under any Chief Hunter or Huntress's watch was the Mount Glenn Tragedy.

Mount Glenn was one of the largest cities in the entire world, with a population of nearly twenty million residents, and was a major center for the arts, for the entertainment industry, for the stock market, for big business, for politics. Some even went as so far as to called it "New Vale" as there were more and better economic opportunities there than in the Kingdom's capital. Just about every major industry in Remnant had factories or offices or warehouses located somewhere in the city. It grew at an alarming rate, going from a tiny suburban outshoot of the capital city to a massive urban sprawl in a little over a century. Major ports and airfields took in tourists and cargo from all over Remnant. Five years ago, before it all went downhill; economists said that if Mount Glenn broke off from the Kingdom of Vale, economically, it could rival any of the Four Kingdoms.

Capitalism at its finest.

That's the line white and blue collar workers alike used to describe Mount Glenn. Nearly every occupation desired or imagined could be found in Mount Glenn and if once couldn't find a job, many simply made their own. Bankers and creditors had money to spare from their deals with major corporations and many sought to strike it rich in Mount Glenn. Small businesses sprang up all over the city for just about any service one desired. Very few actually became successful enough to become millionaires or grow into massive companies, but more than enough people found themselves comfortable with their job and living conditions. It wasn't without its share of problems: poverty was still present in the areas on the outskirts of the city, organized crime was particularly big, and corruption was rank among many of the public offices, but compared to the problems other cities were facing, it seemed like paradise at the time to many.

The plague changed all that.

No one knew how the plague started or who was responsible, but what was agreed upon was that it was a deliberate biological attack. It started off inconspicuously, manifesting itself as a simple cough or sore throat. From there, nausea and insomnia often set in, making it difficult for someone to get adequate rest to fight off the plague. Lesions began to form all over the body soon after, typically followed up with muscle spasms and inflammation. Before long, chronic pain would strike the joints, making most movements nearly unbearable. As the body rapidly deteriorated, internal hemorrhaging or hemorrhagic shock ended up killing the poor soul.

And all of this would transpire within two weeks.

The speculation as to what the plague actually was as divided and diverse as the Hunters themselves. Some claimed it was a leaked biological weapon, pinning the blame on the Atlesian military who were known to dabble in biological weapons and chemical warfare while others said that it was released on purpose by Atlas to weaken the Kingdom of Vale for a hostile takeover or invasion. Others thought it was a deliberate but controlled terrorist attack, meant to cause widespread panic that simply spiraled out of control. There were those who went so far as to accuse the Kingdom of Vale itself for orchestrating the attack to give the Council of Vale more power to "oppress" the population.

They were even rumors circulated among the Hunter and intelligence communities that there was a secret meeting between terrorist leaders in the city as some form of parley just before the incident. Ozpin heard conflicting reports that it was one person or a group, but either way, somebody or somebodies out there wanted to unite the scattered terrorist forces and have them focus their efforts and in return, the Four Kingdoms was to be split up evenly between them once the Four Kingdoms Council was overthrown. Some believed the plague was released into the city as a demonstration and the summit was called to view it. There were others who thought it was a "kill two birds with one stone" situation: the plague was released while the heads of the various terrorist groups were in Mount Glenn to kill them as well as test its lethality on the populace.

Regardless of the rumored summit and its intent, the attack itself was devastating. Within two months, the majority of the city was infected as well as thousands of tourist and merchants who'd passed through the city and the Council of Vale ordered the city and its surrounding areas to be completely quarantined off and declared a no man's land. Anyone left within the quarantine zone was effectively abandoned by the rest of the world, outside of blind periodic supply drops into the city. Anyone who had been through Mount Glenn six months prior to the outbreak was detained and quarantined as well in fear of them being asymptotic carriers.

Mount Glenn then turned into a nightmare, where lawlessness ran amok and those uninfected left behind had to fend for themselves. A total media blackout was placed over Mount Glenn. No one or signal was to go in or out of Mount Glenn until a cure could be found or the origins of the plague could be discovered, but Patient Zero was never found nor was anything remotely resembling a vaccine or cure discovered. People suspected of being asymptotic carriers had no trace of the plague on them and everyone who was infected outside of Mount Glenn died regardless of the treatment.

Vale's, and by extension, Remnant's darkest hour.

As of the brief, but thorough search & rescue efforts by AK-130 Androids last year, no one in the quarantine zone survived the ordeal.

There was little wonder or doubt that the Hunters and other intelligence gathering organizations were to given a blank check for any resources they might need and the authorization directly from the Four Kingdoms Council to eliminate any perceived terrorist threat with _extreme prejudice._

Yet, despite Ozpin's profound hatred of time, he could not deny the wonders of time. With time came change, whether at breakneck speeds or at a snail's pace, but no matter what, it came nonetheless.

New Valero was a testament to that. The Great War nearly tore the very foundations of Remnant apart and it stemmed from the same trivial reasons most wars started. Out of a drawn out war that Ozpin only had fleeting memories of, came a city everyone could get behind.

New Valero wasn't as massive or as impressive as Mount Glenn had been, but it was still a sight to behold. It was a melting pot of ethnicity, where people from any obscure corner of the Four Kingdoms could come and live without fear of discrimination or any prejudice. It had a little bit of what made each of the Four Kingdoms unique. Atlas's advanced technological innovations, Mistral's economic savvy, Vacuo's great tolerance for others, and Vale's exemplary sense of justice created a city unlike of which the world had ever seen. Discrimination of any from, from racism to sexism to ableism to ageism was heavily looked down upon. Faunus and humans were equals, but sadly, the same couldn't be said about the rest of Remnant. Opportunities, while not as plentiful as Mount Glenn had been, were still numerous and many flocked for the chance of a better future.

To top it all off, it was an autonomous entity and the only city to hold such a privilege. It belonged to no kingdom, making it the perfect candidate for the headquarters of the Four Kingdoms Council and the Hunters. In fact, it was the sole reason New Valero was designed in the first place. It also held the privilege of being the only metropolitan area in all of Remnant which hadn't been attacked by any terrorist movement.

And that was owed not only to the presence of the Hunters but to the presence of the city's constant protectors: the elite military unit known collectively as the Helljumpers.

Helljumpers were compromised of the best conventional soldiers Remnant had to offer, second to only the unconventional soldiers the Hunters recruited. In fact, many Hunter prospects who didn't live up to recruiter's high expectations or have anything unique to offer typically ended up within the Helljumpers' ranks. Helljumpers were trained as orbital drop shock troopers, able to rapidly deploy into a myriad of combat situations from a variety of entry methods. Their fleet of massive helicarriers could drop hundreds of single occupant insertion pods to squad size drop pods to individual troops with wingsuits or glider packs and even used regular dropships on some occasions. Usually the Atlesian military would give them their latest in military hardware before sharing with the other Kingdoms after they implemented it into their own forces. Compared to the Hunters, the Helljumpers were more numerous, just as well funded, but they lacked the Hunter's prestigious legacy, and were not truly autonomous. Hunters held no loyalty to any one Kingdom or even the Four Kingdoms Council, though generally a Hunter base held some semblance of loyalty to the Kingdom it was located in, but Hunter swore their loyalty to all of Remnant. The Helljumpers answered directly to the Four Kingdoms Council, who could, in turn, entrust the temporary leadership of certain Helljumper units to any of the Kingdoms.

"Permission to come in?" politely asked a youthful voice from the doorway. Ozpin glanced back, relieved at the familiar sight of Colonel Andrew Wiggin, flanked by two fellow Helljumpers who looked only a few years older then Wiggin himself.

"Please, come in. I've been waiting." Ozpin gestured to the conference table, where a game board he'd set up beforehand was placed. Ozpin sat, propping his ever present cane against the table.

Wiggin took the seat opposite of the Chief Hunter, his face revealing nothing but a neutral expression and calculating eyes. It was to be expected, if anything. Wiggin did not have the most pleasant childhood and the only reason he was placed into such a high command at a young age was due to his genius level intellect. The only reason he wasn't placed in a higher command was the well-founded, but paranoia-induced fear of giving too much power into someone so young. It was only through technical loopholes and vague wordings on regulations that allowed the nineteen year old into such a high rank.

"Pai Sho? I didn't know you played."

"Well, there are some who undoubtedly see it as confusing, overtly complicated, and backwards compared to other, more popular games out there in Remnant that youth such as yourself enjoy."

"Similar things were said about Grifball and Quidditch in the very beginning too. Not very many thought either sport would be marketable or garner enough attention to be played professionally. Now they're worth billions, if not trillions, and most of their athletes are now celebrities. More to the point, it requires a certain amount of patience and forethought to play Pai Sho. Both attributes are often overlooked now in board games."

"Do you want to have the first move?"

"You start us off," suggested Wiggin, paying careful attention to Ozpin's side of the board.

Ozpin took a sip from his mug and moved his White Lotus piece straight into the intersection in the middle of the board, a bold albeit risky gambit among veteran Pai Sho players.

"Interesting," was all Colonel Wiggin had to say before setting up his tile at an intersection closer to his side of the board. From there, the two began setting up their tiles around the board, Ozpin keeping careful track of Wiggin's placements. In Pai Sho, careful placement of one's tiles could make or break a game. "I received the message and did as you requested, but I must say, you've caused quite a stir."

"This conversation requires a certain level of discretion." From there, the two of them moved quickly, establishing harmonies with their tiles to score points and disharmonies among their opponent's tiles to cost them points. Ozpin gestured to Wiggin's bodyguards with his mug. "Do you trust them?"

"Petra and Bean? With my life." Wiggin began going on the offense, capturing several of Ozpin's disharmonious tiles in rapid succession and tossing them into the pot. "I wasn't the only victim of Graff's Battle School."

The Battle School. The scandal that would've broke the Kingdom of Atlas if not for the ever looming shadow of the Mount Glenn Tragedy. Hyrum Graff, a colonel within the Altesian army who wielded considerable influence, was made head of Atlas's most prestigious combat school known simply as the Battle School. There, he was supposed to teach gifted prodigies who wanted to serve in the military by strengthening their mental and physical skills at a young age. They were to be the next generation of military officers and strategists, able to constantly adapt and apply new tactics, skills, and technologies into the battlefield.

On the surface, the Battle School was supposed to be akin to a military academy, drilling in military discipline and teaching military history and theory alongside the standard educational curriculum. Graff took those rules, broke them in half, threw them out the window, and set them on fire.

Unfortunately for the students who volunteered, Graff's Battle School was brutal, harsh, and unforgiving to its students. Failure wasn't tolerated, kids were often endangered, messages students sent home were monitored and censored, kids were not allowed to leave, the staff Graff hired were indifferent to the massive amount of physical and mental stress placed on the students, and even encouraged infighting between students. Graff placed Wiggin in two such situations against bullies who despised him and were jealous of his sharp mind. Both times Wiggin was pushed within an inch of his life and in each instance, he unintentionally killed his aggressor. Graff covered it up by paying off the families and telling the media of a tragic training accident due to faulty equipment.

Impressed by Wiggin's ingenuity, Graff's co-conspirator, the aging Atlesian war hero Mazer Rackham, began playing war games with him. In a real-time holographic display, Mazer claimed to have created a series of simulations of potential terrorist attacks in Atlas that were meant to be challenging for Wiggin. Not all of the simulation troopers would follow orders, some might break off from the plan to pursue other secondary objectives, and they might not be able to carry out an order efficiently. Essentially a simulation of what real soldiers would do in the battlefield. They started off as simple raids on safe houses, but they quickly escalated. At any time of the day, Wiggin could be interrupted and thrust into a scenario. They ranged from hostage standoffs to safe house raids to repelling an attack on a military site to minimizing casualties during an attack in broad daylight.

The problem was that they weren't fake. Rackham and Graff, using their connections, organized it so that Rackham's men would receive their commands from Wiggin himself. A combination of helmet linked cameras/sensors, satellite imagery, and real-time experimental echolocation technology gave Wigging the vague hologram of the "simulation" he needed to conduct his strategies for. Anytime an attack happened within the Kingdom of Atlas, Wiggin was placed in command of whatever boots were on the ground. Being cut off from the news, except for what they wanted him to know, he had no idea he was leading men and women into actual combat. Several of them died under his "command" as well as hostages and civilians. Despite preventing the deaths of many more, when Wiggin found out that it was all real, he simply couldn't handle it.

Wiggin was only fourteen by the time his loving and genius older sister helped private investigators break the scandal surrounding the Battle School and he went comatose from the psychological shock of everything he'd done.

Rackham and Graff were arrested along with the rest of their staff and all of Rackham's loyalists and they were promptly given the death penalty for the innumerable crimes committed, but none of that could help Wiggin or his conscience. He remained in a comatose state for over a year, even through the beginnings of the Mount Glenn Tragedy five years ago.

"Well, then I assume they're up to speed on the little scheme we've hatched." Ozpin maneuvered his tiles into surrounding his white lotus piece, gaining a substantial amount of points. If he could create a complete harminous chain around it, then he would win the game. "Then again, 'little' is hardly the appropriate term for what we're trying to accomplish."

"The basics," supplied Wiggin, maneuvering his tiles to capture more of Ozpin's disharmonious tiles so he couldn't complete the chain. The back and forth between them meant the pot now contained nearly a third of all the pieces on the board. Whoever won the pot would gain a significant number of points. "There are too many variables in play for me to give them an accurate description of the strategy we have in motion."

"So, what input did the others Chief Hunters have? Will they follow through?"

"Chief Hunter Mephisto Pheles said he'll pledge whatever resources he can spare, but not at the moment."

Ozpin raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Did he give a reason?"

"True Cross is having problems in-house."

"Mephisto may be a libertine and act like he doesn't care, but I'm sure whatever convoluted and contrived plan he's cooked up this time will work out in the end."

"I can't believe you put such faith in a man like him," remarked Wiggin. "He's barely professional, his overly dramatic choice of attire attracted a lot of unneeded attention, he barely paid any attention to our conversation, and he had the gall to make me pay for his five-star three course meal."

"If there's anything the Hunters take pride in, it's being unique and expressing that individuality to others."

"Is that why Hunters have no standard combat uniform?"

"And why some of our Chief Hunters can seem a tad bit..." Ozpin couldn't find the word to describe his fellow Hunter Chiefs. Zany was a good one, but didn't describe all of them. Neither did odd or unusual. Extreme was close, but not quite right.

"Peculiar?" supplied Wiggin. "Bizarre?"

"I was going to say eccentric, but that also works," admitted Ozpin who had no trouble remembering all the colorful personalities he'd the pleasure of working with over the years and a few who gave him terrible headaches just from thinking about them.

"Did you hear from anyone else?"

"Actually, much to my chargin and to their credit, several of your colleagues came to similar conclusions months ago. Clearly it was skill, not politics that landed them with the title of Chief Hunter."

"So who was able to make the connections we did?"

"Shiroe of Log Horizon, for one."

Ozpin carefully studied his board, realizing whatever Wiggin planned had succeeded. The majority of Ozpin's tiles were cut off from the chain he was trying to form around the white lotus piece, due to the strategic placement of Wiggin's tiles. Unless he started disrupting Wiggin's harmonies and captured his tiles, he had no room to maneuver pieces into finishing the chain and winning the game. "Of course the 'Villain in Glasses' did, I expected no less from such a brilliant mind. I only wondered what took him so long to figure it out."

"Politics."

"That explains it."

Ozpin carefully began taking back key sections of the board, causing the pot to steadily grow bigger and bigger, although he didn't take as many pieces as Wiggin did.

"As it turns out, Delmas, Haddock, Dreyar, and Celestia made similar connections to ours, although they were missing a few key pieces here and there. Kadic, Berk, Fairy Tail, and Canterlot already have assets in play and teams held in reserve in the event we need them."

"And what were the teams told?"

"A half-truth."

"It's better than blatantly lying to their face," mused Ozpin. He didn't like having to lie to his allies, embittered by his own experiences as a Hunter. The intelligence communities of Remnant loved their cloak and danger nonsense, but it was more of a hindrance then it was practical or useful. "That reminds me; the intelligence community will be more of a hindrance than anything."

"How so?" Wiggin began going on the offense again once he had a good amount of harmonious tiles set up. He disrupted Ozpin's larger harmonies, forcing him to get aggressive as well, capturing whatever disharmonious tiles on Wiggin's side he could.

"The Internal Affairs Agency and Federal Investigation Bureau are still at each other's throats. The corruption within each group is more widespread then I thought. Naturally, there's not enough evidence to prove it, but there are whispers that they are already fighting a war."

"Against each other?"

"Unfortunately."

"So it's just the Chief Hunters we've contacted and my brigade of Helljumpers? Politically, it's more than enough to apply some pressure to the Council of Vale, but not enough to even touch the Four Kingdoms Council. We'll need more allies to try something on that scale."

"Fret not, I've taken care of that. Not all in the intelligence community are blind to what's happening. Underfist is still investigating the Mount Glenn Tragedy, but it seems the more they look into it, more questions are raised than answered. Delgado hopes that with the reconstruction effort, that they'll find something. Once reconstruction gets underway and they're able to find some answers, Underfist will help us in any way that can."

After the AK-130 androids turned out no survivors, those who had loved ones in the city pushed for an effort to rebuild Mount Glenn, although it was more about finding closure than anything else. It took well over a year to get the funding, training, technology, and approval to do it, but in a few months' time, specialists would finally enter the Mount Glenn quarantine zone. Hopefully they would find some answers.

Ozpin's attention drifted back into the game, which quickly devolved into a stalemate. Ozpin was is no position to complete his chain around his center piece while Wiggin alternated between capturing tiles and creating harmonies to gain more points. He walked right into Wiggin's trap. Impressive.

"Well, if it helps, Rachel said she'll help in whatever way so can," tossed out Wiggin. "Her eyes and ears are among the best in the world."

"As in Rachel McKenzie of the KND?"

Wiggin captured another yet another one of Ozpin's tiles. "The one and the same. She figured out something was up last year and has her best team of operatives on standby. They're a bit young and have a remarkable tendency to generate collateral damage, but their record is impressive to say the least. So, have you decided which of your Hunters you'll donate to the cause?"

"For now, two teams. Both are rookie teams and have no field experience, but with their skill set, I doubt they'll let that get in the way."

Wiggin raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were like Dreyar and Celestia, that you cared deeply about your subordinates."

"I do," corrected Ozpin, maneuvering his pieces out of Wiggin's carefully constructed trap as subtly as possible. "I believe that sometimes the best way to learn is from experience and that's not something you gain from a book or training. However, I know there are limits and I would never give those under my command orders that I didn't not believe they could accomplish."

"So, we have at least two intelligence agencies agreeing to back us up, no less than five Hunter bases pledging support of some degree, and my own personal unit of Helljumpers. Will that be enough?"

"Don't forget the Knights of the Blood Oath and the West Wind Brigade."

"When did you recruit PMCs?" inquired Wiggin. Both groups were well known private military contractors run by trustworthy men. The Knights of the Blood Oath were known to be pragmatic and cynical while the West Wind Brigade's membership were more idealistic.

"They approached me with their concerns, to be perfectly honest."

"Has it really gotten that bad that even the private sector knows about this while the councils are still in the dark?"

"That's game," stated Ozpin upon completing a harmonious chain around his center piece, ensuring him the pot of captured tiles. "And to answer your question, yes and no. A select, observant few did manage to figure some a piece or two of the puzzle, but they're ignorant of the overall picture. Hopefully, the bigger picture will never see the light of day."

"It's a tie by the way." Wiggin stood, his expression still neutral as he looked at Ozpin. "So what's our next step?"

"Now," Ozpin held up his White Lotus tile piece, "we make our opening move."

* * *

 _Author's Notes:_

 _The best way to describe my version of Remnant (which you've kind of gotten a feel for) is something similar to the_ _Fusionfall_ _video game by Cartoon Network or the_ _Powerpuff Girl Doujinshi_ _by Tom Bleedman. Essentially, Remnant is a slightly futuristic version of a world resembling our own that is more advanced than us, but not like sci-fi advanced (think of the UNSC and all the human technology from_ _Halo_ _that is ahead of our current technology but is not quite_ _Star Wars_ _or_ _Star Trek_ _). The world of Remnant is made up of fictional places and people. Real life places and people do not exist (except in a fictional form so like New New York from_ _Futurama_ _could be a thing) and the laws of physics very much apply in this world._

 _Basically really big multiverse/crossover with RWBY being the main focus and inspiration._

 _As a note, if you're are somewhat political savvy (like me) or dislike the overall stupidity and polarization of modern politics (like me), I'll give you a heads-up: this story does get a bit political, in a sense._

 _Since this is a counter-terrorist alternate universe, the bad guys aren't going to be terrorists without a cause who just want to blow stuff up and kill people for no reason like you always see on television or in the movies. They're going to have reasons to do what they do, reasons that they use to justify their actions. Whether or not you think they're justifiable reasons, that's entirely up to you. I just want this to be clear: I am not sanctifying or demonizing any of these political movements or ideas that mirror or happen to mirror real-life ideologies or political parties. I'm not going to beat you over the head that this political group or idea is bad and this other of thinking is good. Personally I'm a political independent whose a little bit of everything (in a similar vein to Theodore Roosevelt who was under the Repulibcan banner but was somewhat liberal as well, very progressive while holding some really old views, as well as being an big time environmentalist and overall considered a radical by pretty much every political group at the time) so I would get flak from any group I would endorse since_ everything _I believe in doesn't follow that group's set-in-stone platform._

 _For most groups, I am going to be intentionally vague about their beliefs aside from some generalizations and for other groups, have them be overzealous with an exaggerated ideology._

 _On a less heavy note, not all characters in my is story will be from RWBY. Yeah, there you have it, go ahead and scream about the controversy, but before you go judging me and think "oh, this is one of those stories where someone's OC is overpowered and joins Beacon" or "my OC joins the cast of RWBY in some convoluted way with lots of dark secrets and/or is a Mary Sue Gray Sue whatever sue character"; this isn't one of those stories. I've personally read some that were well-thought out and blended smoothly while others were just..._

 _I'd rather not talk about those ones and I don't think you would either._

 _No, instead the characters outside of RWBY will be an "expy", which is an imported character borrowed or adapted from another series/franchise/median of fiction, thus I do not consider them an "OC" in the traditional sense. Ever notice that Jiminy Cricket from Pinocchio and Timothy the Mouse from Dumbo are essentially the same character? Tiny yet feisty animals who help a naïve childish character and act as their conscience and moral support?_ _Technically speaking, everyone in team RWBY and JNPR are expies to some degree. Weiss is obviously based off of Snow White, Pyrrha is a essentially a female Achilles, Penny's a female robot version of Pinocchio, yadda yadda yadda, you get the point. You'll see one in this chapter._

 _I also decided that some of RWBY's more minor characters will be reworked, used differently, and probably given larger or more prominent roles than what the show did with them. Cyril Ian and Tukson come to mind._

 _Also, sorry RWBY characters, as cool and awesome as your powers are, they will not exist in this story. The silver lining is that I do have a bunch of fictional technologies that will be adapted to "replace" the character's abilities in the show. Since this will be a gun heavy world, Jaune for example will not have a shield in the traditional sense but he has the deployable ballistic exo-shield from_ _Advanced Warfare_ _, but I'll go into detail about that works at a later point._

 _Characters from the world of RWBY will be adapted to fit due to the dynamics of my version of Remnant, but I will do my best to keep the RWBY cast in character and as previously stated, find fictional technologies that mimic their powers, so forgive me for any out-of-character moments._

 _Just to be clear on something, since my version of the Hunters are essentially the G.I. Joes in the sense that they are an elite counter-terrorism unit, Beacon Academy is more like a military base, so it will just be referred to as Beacon. Haven Academy where Team SSSN came from will just be Haven and so forth. Get the idea? Good, moving on._

 _For the quotation in the beginning, I personally always liked how writers used it in their novels, so I am using my own version of it. Some quotes will be made up by me and given to a fictional character or will be an actual quote by a fictional character, although their role in my version of Remnant will be modified accordingly and the quotes slightly altered if needed._

 _How the rest of Remnant works and how all the little pieces I sporadically introduce comes together, the story will explain itself as time goes on, but I will clarify things if needed or if I feel I couldn't explain it in a coherent fashion within the narrative._

 _So, there you go. What do you think of the little universe I've put together? Review it, comment on it, dissect it, criticize it, ask questions; whatever your little heart desires. Feedback in all forms is appreciated. The worst thing you can do to an artist is to let them believe their work is perfect when it's not._

 _Beside, this is writing practice for and something to do when bored or confronted with writer's block._

 _ **P.S.**_ _: To illustrate how many series I've lumped into my alternate universe version of Remnant, here's some of the more obvious:_

 _-Roman's guns that he was selling and that are mentioned in his part are all from_ _Call Of Duty: Advanced Warfare_ _(been playing that way too much lately; gained three prestiges in a month while not even playing seriously for that long)_

 _-the vehicles mentioned in this chapter (and practically the whole story in general) are and will be from_ _GTA V/GTA Online_ _(why u no update last gen?!)_

 _-the company that used to own the empty warehouse is Sato Industries which is from_ _Legends of Korra_

 _-the Helljumpers/orbital drop shock troopers are adapted from the_ _Halo_ _franchise_

 _-the Helljumpers' helicarrier is from the Marvel Cinematic Universe (more specifically, the_ _Winter Soldier_ _'s version of the helicarrier minus the whole automated/AI thing)_

 _-Andrew Wiggin, better known as Ender, is from the novel_ _Ender's Game_ _, although most probably know the film adaptation_

 _-Pai Sho, the game Ozpin and Ender play, is from_ _Avatar: the Last Airbender_ _and became an actual game in real life due to popularity (same with Quidditch and Grifball although the former has big changes to reflect reality while the latter was a custom game mode turned into a standard video game mode). I may or may not have messed up the rules and how it's played._

 _-Cerberus is the pro-human terrorist organization of the same name from_ _Mass Effect_ _, but how it works is changed pretty significantly, although the core idea of it is pretty much the same, plus it's interesting to have an antithesis to the White Fang._

 _-all the terrorist groups mentioned are actual terrorist groups from other fiction series or evil organizations from other series reworked into terrorist groups (e.g. the Vox Populi are an anarchic/communist terrorist movement from_ _Bioshock Infinite_ _while the Separatists are breakaway governments from_ _Star Wars_ _that I turned into a militant terrorist group)_

 _-The Internal Affairs Agency (IAA) and Federal Investigation Bureau (FIB) are from_ _GTA V_

 _-Ozpin and Wiggin's conversation contains many references to various shows/franchises. You guys are smart. I'm confident you'll figure it out...or use Google._

 _-and a ton more for you to discover on your own..._

 _(For you dedicated readers who actually took the time to suffer through my mess of an author's notes, here's your reward: a preview of the next chapter where Team RWBY is introduced proper as well as other "OC" expy characters relevant to the plot):_

Junior pinched the bridge of his nose, his shoulders sagging as he let out a heavy sigh. "Well, what the hell do you girls want me to do? I sell information, not contraband. You want some heavy or hot stuff, I could recommend you to some reputable guys I know that won't try to shortchange you. Otherwise, my hands are tied. I just can't sell what I don't have.

Weiss opened her mouth to respond, but Yang stopped her, planting her arms on the table, leaning forward to display her...feminine charm as she softly asked Junior in a flirtatious tone, "Please? Surely you must have something we could use? We're not asking for that much."

Weiss noticed Junior's eyes briefly drift down to Yang's exposed cleavage before cautiously looking away. At least he had some respect for women. Half his men ogled the both of them as they came in. "Sorry Blondie, I got nothing for you, but..." His voice trailed off, having some type of internal debate for a moment. "Look, if you really need information that badly that quick, there's this one place. It's a gentlemen's club a few blocks down from here. The owner's a total scumbag and we've been at each other's throats since day one, but a lot of...powerful and influential men like to spend their leisure time down there and I often compensate his girls for any juicy tidbits of information they provide me behind his back. Hell, I'm the only one who'll take them in when something happens to them. You both got the looks, the curves, the youth. He doesn't ask employees many questions. As long as you're willing to... _entertain_ his patrons and you have good sob story for him, you'll definitely get something you can act on, sell, or blackmail with. That is, if you're really this desperate," he added cautiously.

Out of the corner of her eye, Weiss saw Yang's eyebrow twitched ever so slightly.

That was _not_ good. Not in the slightest.

 _"Excuse me?"_

Weiss didn't even have any time to react as Yang rushed forward and grabbed his arm, twisting it violently behind his back, grabbing the back of his head, and slamming him face first into the hardwood table with an audible _thud_ in one fluid motion. As she'd learned when she first met Yang, she was not someone who took insults lightly, intended or otherwise. Jokes and puns were always laughed off, even if they were a bit harsh, but sexist comments and derogatory insults?

One had a tendency to lose teeth for badmouthing Yang and her family. And that's if she was feeling merciful.

Weiss fondly remembered her first encounter with a wrathful Yang. About a week after Team RWBY was formed, Yang got herself involved in an "incident" on base in which she nearly castrated two members of the Beacon support staff. What did the maintenance workers do to earn Yang's scorn? They made some very nasty and lewd comments about her little sister over the course of several days, but thankfully, those words never reached Ruby's innocent ears. She wasn't even aware of the incident, being absorbed by Beacon's state-of-the-art firing range. Ruby had spent the night there on more than one occasion, similar to how their teammate Blake sometimes ended up staying the night in Beacon's massive library. Unfortunately for those workers and their genital regions, it didn't take very long for those comments to reach Yang's ears.


End file.
